


Wanting

by milohtic



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Game(s), Sad with a Happy Ending, character development(?), gloria is not specifically mentioned, hop is the champion whilst you become sonia's assistant (although its not outright stated), its more like a hop/reader than anything but like who cares, maybe idk, mentions of the unova region, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27735151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milohtic/pseuds/milohtic
Summary: It doesn’t seem fair that all those years ago, you abandoned a friend.
Relationships: Hop (Pokemon)/Reader, Hop/Yuuri | Gloria
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> this is more of a long-awaited(?) sequel of something i wrote almost a year ago. granted it's not like THE definitive sequel, but i would consider it nonetheless.
> 
> i've picked up pokemon shield again and i have to say, i've been enjoying the dlc thoroughly! i still feel a lot of things towards hop that i did a year ago, and so i guess it was the perfect opportunity to start writing more x readers lol
> 
> anyways, i hope you enjoy <3

The wind whispers a solemn promise; an idealized world of childish happiness and want. It tickles your skin and gives you goosebumps like you’ve never felt before; but as with all pleas, it falls on deaf ears. You’ve learned to ignore the temptations of the human hubris long ago, yet without it, life seems… Repetitive. It’s not like you minded the monotonous life of a researcher— in fact, you might dare to say you enjoy it— it just didn’t feel the  _ same _ .

How long has it been since you’ve set foot within your hometown of Postwick? Years, perhaps. Your research has led you all over the globe; hardly enough time to even greet your fellow (or perhaps former) friends with a solemn “hi”. A part of you is bitter that you’ll probably never get to settle down again, yet the other half is content on  ~~ running away ~~ being far away from home. You’ll never understand the psychological push-pull factors that makes your relationship with Galar teeter so much. In fact, you don’t think you’ll even  _ begin _ to understand.

Galar reminds you of… things. Not necessarily failures in a sense (yet when you’re struggling to sleep on warm Unovian nights, it  _ feels _ like you’ve done wrong), but things that you let stray out of your mind’s comfort zone. Things such as  _ The Championships _ and  ~~_ rival _ ~~ _ battles _ and even  _ camping _ make you uncomfortable, and you try your best not to let your thoughts get to you.

This works— admittedly not a lot; but sometimes, because you’re implausibly human with unfortunate imperfections, the hubris you’ve ignored for so long comes crashing back like a tsunami, chock-full of buried trash and treasures alike. And when you’re most vulnerable; when you’ve cried for nights on end in the vast wilderness; you accept the fact that one must always return to their roots.

* * *

Galar, upon returning, is different yet the same. The dirt path leading up to your hometown of Postwick feels the same as when you first left it with your  ~~ rival ~~ friend, yet you fundamentally understand that it is not. The ivy is a little more overgrown, and the moss tucks itself more firmly within the cobblestone fencing, but you reason that it’s simply unkempt.

The brick and mortar housing stands firm within the hillside; the flocks of Wooloo munching away at the grass, unaware of the changing seasons ahead of them (and really, you wish you were a Wooloo); and the rotating crops wafting lazily on the autumn winds. It’s all  _ still _ the same yet it simply  _ isn’t _ , and you feel upset that you keep on comparing the past to the present (it’s the guilt, you swear).

Your mum lets you in as she always has, asking you general questions like “How was Unova?” and “Are you okay?”, but all you can answer with is a curt nod. Your room— oh my Arceus, your  _ room _ — is still the same after years of unuse, everything in place as it  _ should’ve _ been, as if you were ten again and dreaming of becoming a Pokemon Trainer—

You sob, quietly.

Dinner consists of curry, but it feels like the best thing you’ve eaten in  _ years _ — the curry you’ve painstakingly made over and over again throughout your travels pales in comparison to your mum’s homemade food, and you almost want to burst out in choked laughter because  _ yes _ , it’s  _ that _ good— you were never a good cook to begin with. Even the refrigerated water feels entirely different when it travels smoothly down your throat; familiar, at least.

Maybe the wilderness of the world made you wholly desensitized to the stuff that made you…  _ you. _ Perhaps burying yourself with work made you yearn for the comfort of home more so than the opposite. You’ll never know.

Mum says something about a friend coming to visit, but you can hardly hear her through the shut door and the multitude of thoughts swirling your brain. It’s the juxtaposition of the moment— you feel shielded from the outside within your own home, yet it’s the same stuffy feeling that  _ made _ you leave your home all those years ago. It drives you mad.

There’s a light knock on the door, and you acknowledge it weakly. Standing in the doorframe is an (un)familiar yet welcoming face, graced with honey-colored eyes and a slightly forlorn smile. It reminds you of the region’s former Champion, Leon, yet…

“Hop?” Your hushed voice quivers.

Hop smiles gently, the tall man kneeling in front of your huddled form as if you were a cornered animal. He only nods, reaching a hand to gently caress your hardened cheeks.

You’re stunned. Your throat dries up immediately, and you’re unable to process the sight and touch of your former  ~~ friend ~~ rival. He’s almost the exact same— minus the outgrown hair and attire— and you can’t help but feel.. Guilty, in a way. He looks so  _ tired _ ; he must’ve been so stressed.

“H… How long has it been?”

His eyes are filled with a hint of warmness. “About six years.”

You choke back a sob, placing your hand on top of his cupped one and rubbing your thumb against it. He mimics the action against your cheek.

“Far too long, eh, mate?” He chuckles sadly.

“Hop,” your voice throbs, fat tears welling out of your weary eyes, “ _ Hop _ ,”

Hop smiles sweetly at you, and you burst out crying into his warm hands. It feels so nice. You feel so  _ starved _ . You want to apologize and you desperately try, but he hushes you between sobs and pulls you out of your blanket cocoon, cuddling you on the floor. “Hop,” you wail, the years of regret and solitude crashing down in a single evening. He kisses your forehead and runs his fingers through your unkempt hair.

You felt whole again.


End file.
